


Two Hands

by Faline (rubberbisquit)



Series: The Best of Us [5]
Category: Jericho (US 2006)
Genre: Beck is a secret underground recruitment badass, F/M, for real sort of, spoilers for seasons 3 and 4, way more effective than we ever give him credit for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 21:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7377703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubberbisquit/pseuds/Faline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had moments, seconds, to make their move.  Reinforcements would number in the dozens.  There would be no effective way to surrender and make it out alive.  Heather was very clearly not in the army and the penalty for falsely representing oneself as military had been raised to death.  Execution by firing squad.</p>
<p>Beck would go down shooting, take this whole damn place with him, before he would ever ever let anything bad happen to Heather again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShirleyAnn66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirleyAnn66/gifts).



> Strangely not smut. I was planning on smut and it didn't happen. Next chapter. Promise.
> 
> Also, strangely, these postings keep getting longer. I'm going to have a 6k word opus to finish up a series that started at 600 words a story.

_One week earlier_

Beck hadn’t wanted to stop when the Humvee had started overheating.  They were deep in the Ozarks, heading to McConnell AFB just outside Wichita.  They were close enough that they’d be there before dark and he didn’t understand why a manageable problem required a pit stop.  Heather looked at him like he’d lost his damn mind and reminded him that two hundred miles from protection was a terrible place to break down.  Especially when the fix would be quick and could get them to a soft bed before dark.

 

So they’d stopped, finding an A.S.A.-run trading post that should have the parts they needed.  Beck was nervous, fingers tapping and uneven pattern on his leg as Heather talked their way into the post.  He watched the pair talking up at the check point carefully, eyes sharp for any hint of aggression or suspicion.

 

Despite the fact that the checkpoint was run by men wearing the same uniform as everyone in the Humvee, fellow soldiers still had to check-in.  They’d only been chatting a few minutes.  Nothing suspicious was happening.  Heather was behaving just like he’d instructed, the perfect soldier.  Yet, he was beyond worried.  He was having a hard time keeping his ass still in his seat.  His men were probably laughing at his discomfort in their heads.

 

He should have called the unexpected stop into the base; Heather had laughed at him, telling him she’d be in and out in moments.  She could spot a replacement header from three hundred paces and was completely confident they’d find what they were looking for.

 

Beck shifted as the man talking with Heather in front of him gestured to the makeshift trading post and grinned.  He should have called into Fort Leonard Wood, seventy miles back.  Just to check on the status of the trading post.  Beck had been nervous, though.  They were coming from that camp.  He’d just had a five-hour conversation with the company’s commander about the A.S.A.’s hand in the September Attacks and her response hadn’t been as open as Beck would have liked. 

 

Heather laughed at something the man said, her shoulders relaxing and her hands slipping into her front pockets.  She rolled onto the balls of her feet like he’d seen her do a hundred times before when she’d been engaged in friendly conversation.

 

Beck’s heart seized and Martell let out a soft, “Fuck,” from the driver’s seat.

 

He prayed the guard hadn’t noticed.  Or dismissed the action as a new recruit that hadn’t been properly trained going through basic.  They _were_ in a state of war.  Training was a bit lax-

 

Beck swore himself when he noticed the young PFC’s hand drift toward his firearm, even as he continued chatting with Heather.  She probably had no idea what was coming.

 

She was a smart cookie.  She’d picked up on a ton of habits and formalities within the army on her own but Beck had spent damn near a week training her for this mission, perfecting everything from her lingo to where she let her eyes rest when she was bored, to the sorts of behaviors she could expect under her cover as a CO.

 

“Prepare to engage.”  His voice was rough, angry at himself and at her for insisting that she accompany him.  That she ever masquerade as a seasoned vet.

 

He’d never thought to tell her that pockets were never places to store her hands.  Anything in the world a soldier might want to carry, except for their hands.

 

Heather didn’t startle when the PFC drew his gun and ordered her to the ground.  She did take a step back, her offending hands flying into the air.  Beck and his men moved, exiting the vehicle with their own guns at the ready.  He could hear Heather trying to talk the young soldier down.

 

“Lower your gun, private.  That’s an order.”  The PFC glanced up and them and back at Heather.  His jaw squared.

 

“Stop moving, all of you, and drop your guns.  You’re under arrest for impersonating military officers.”  Beck had to give the kid credit.  He was alone, a half dozen men slowly circling him with guns drawn, and his voice remained steady.

 

“Lower your gun, private.  You are making a mistake.”  Beck wished he could say his own voice hadn’t taken on a distinct panicked note.  His gun wavered, minutely, in front of his face.

 

Twenty-three years in the army, discipline pounded into every part of him, and it was all gone because this kid was holding a gun on _Heather_.  She was only a few steps away.  She continued asking the private to lower his gun in even, calming tones.  Like she was talking to a wounded animal.  Beck moved closer at a steady pace.  He had to get to her, get her away.

 

They were lucky the shouting hadn’t brought more troops to the gate but it was only a matter of time.

 

The kid’s eyes darted around the group surrounding him and Beck could almost hear him calculating his chances.  This was clearly not a fight he was going to win.  The PFC jerked forward so quickly Beck and his men couldn’t react before Heather was clutched to the kid’s chest, his gun held to her head.  Beck could finally see her face, see her eyes. 

 

She looked calm and collected, still trying to talk the PFC down.

 

The kid had to be burning time, waiting for reinforcements.

 

“I don’t know who the fuck you people are, but you’re all under arrest.  Put your guns down and raise your hands into the air.”

 

They had moments, seconds, to make their move.  Reinforcements would number in the dozens.  There would be no effective way to surrender and make it out alive.  Heather was very clearly not in the army and the penalty for falsely representing oneself as military had been raised to death.  Execution by firing squad.

 

Beck would go down shooting, take this whole damn place with him, before he would ever _ever_ let anything bad happen to Heather again.  Not after Constantino.  Not after-

 

Heather had stopped talking and was staring Beck down as he frantically tried to figure out a way out of this without anyone dying at all.  He watched her eyes jerk sharply to the left and he frowned, still requesting the PFC lower his weapon.  He didn’t understand.  She made the motion again, this time trying to gesture surreptitiously with one finger. 

 

He still didn’t get it.

 

The PFC began to edge the two of them back towards door in the gate.  Beck could not allow him to get Heather through the pedestrian door.  His fingers tightened around his gun, right trigger finger slipping down, off the safety.

 

It was a shitty, terrible shot to take.  He was to the left, enough of an opening that he could catch the PFC in the shoulder and not hit Heather.  But if the PFC jerked, if they moved at all, Beck could kill her.

 

His heart pounding, he took a deep breath and prepared to fire.

 

She almost rolled her eyes at him, right before she smashed her head back and caught the PFC in the nose.  The kid howled and Heather jammed an elbow into his solar plexus.  His men moved as one, pulling Heather back and kicking the legs out from under the kid.  Zip ties quickly disabled the PFC.  Beck’s heart raced and he took a second to collect himself.  He regarded the PFC squirming at his feet.  The kid had spunk, faced down a unit of well-trained soldiers, and hadn’t wavered once.  He was a good soldier.  A loyal soldier.  And Beck knew the kid would be cursing himself for days, maybe months, for letting a woman get the drop on him.

 

But he’d be alive to curse himself.

 

And Heather would be alive too.  He wanted to go to her, pull her tight, try not to cry into her hair and tell her those three words that had been catching on his tongue for several months.  He didn’t.  He ordered his men to grab the PFC.  They trundled him back to the Humvee, sitting him on the floor, and took off.

 

They couldn’t release him, obviously.  The kid knew what they looked like.  Hell, Heather had probably told him exactly where they were coming from and where they were going.  The PFC was a risk.  He debated for long miles, his hands still shaking from the adrenaline of almost losing Heather, of almost dying in this god forsaken swamp after he’d been so successful at rallying a dozen encampments to his cause.

 

The military rebellion would have died in its infancy.

 

Heather would have died-

 

His racing mind was cut short by a muffled curse from Martell.  He glanced at the console and mentally groaned.  They were overheating again.  They’d only made it forty miles by his estimation before the Humvee had decided it had done enough with a busted engine.

 

The brunette woman in the back seat was uncharacteristically quiet as they pulled off the main road and limped their way up a long abandoned driveway.  A farm house well hidden by a corpse of trees came into view just as the engine sputtered and then died.  Beck leaned his head back, taking a second to process the last hour and then climbed out of the vehicle.

 

“Foster and Hubbard, give me a thirty-yard sweep of the property.  Jones.  Martell.  Secure the farmstead.  Georges and Piquieres, watch the prisoner.  Miss Lisinski, with me.”

 

His legs felt wobbly as he moved to stand a good forty feet from the Humvee, his weapon out and his eyes scanning the tree line.  He could hear Heather approach, her steps light on the gravel drive.  The property was clearly overgrown from abandonment.  He hoped that the presence of the military-run trading post so close meant it’d been secured by troops and left to rot.  If the Humvee was salvageable, they had to find a working part somewhere.  There were barns, this had been an agricultural farm.  Sure, someone would have left something for Heather-

 

He dropped his head and his gun both, looking at the ground as he fought back the weakness coursing through his body.  “Hey, it’s ok.  I should be able to find something-.“

 

Beck shook his head sharply at Heather’s first words in almost an hour.  He fought back a return of the panic at seeing her captive.  He’d sworn to himself and to her that she would never again be in a situation like that.  He’d wiped tears and grime from her face and swore to her, on his honor as a soldier and his devotion to her, that she would never again be a prisoner.  Not so long as he was alive.  And like a fool he’d ignored his gut.

 

“Beck, it’s okay.”  He was shaking with restraint, wanting to hold her and knowing that would be unacceptable.  The men were around and they had both agreed that no matter what they would behave entirely professional while on this mission.  No sneaking off late into the night, no secret glances.  And absolutely no touching.

 

It was killing him not to grab her and reassure himself that she was fine.  That she wasn’t hurt.  She had performed with efficiency and had executed the maneuvers he’d taught her.  He was so proud of her.  Yet so disappointed at his own failure.

 

When he didn’t answer her, she stepped closer.  Beck willed her to stop moving silently.  He shook his head again. She couldn’t touch him and he couldn’t-

 

“Beck.”  Her voice was soft and her touch was gentle as she clasped his hand.  It was one of the few places on his body that wasn’t covered in gear and the warmth of her skin made him jump.

 

“Heather, stop.  We can’t.”  He couldn’t bring himself to look at her for his shame.

 

Another hand, this time gently cupping his cheek, forced him to meet her gaze.  When he did she let out a soft cry of protest.  “Hey, hey it’s ok.  I’m alright.  Don’t beat yourself up about this.  I don’t know what happened back there, but it wasn’t your fault.  You couldn’t have known.”

 

That gentle hand wiped away tears that he desperately wanted to stop.  He hadn’t cried in a long time.  Not since he’d received word about his wife and daughter.  Then, too, Heather had wiped his cheeks and held him close.  That time, he’d been still in her embrace, caught in grief and horror at his situation.

 

Now, he pulled her in roughly and buried his face in her neck, letting his panic and worry bleed out.  Everything that had happened that afternoon _had_ been his fault.  He’d agreed to bring her under disguise; he’d failed to teach her everything she needed to know about being a soldier.  He’d- hell, he’d let himself fall in love with Heather Lisinski despite his best efforts to maintain any sort of professional boundary between the two of them.

 

Heather held on, gripping the back of his uniform with both hands.  She continued to murmur reassurance into his ear, her voice low.  When his breathing evened and he was able to pull himself away, he looked down at her.  Heather had been a cornerstone since the moment they’d been introduced at Camp Liberty.  She’d been his rock and his most steadfast supporter while he tried to _incite a damn rebellion_ in his own country.  She was, without a doubt, everything in his life.

 

She wet her lips with the tip of her pink tongue, wanting him to kiss her.  It’d been four days on the road without affection and she wanted it now.  And he’d give it to her, but first-

 

“Heather, I love you.”

 

Those bright blue eyes went wide with surprise as the words hit her full force.  She gaped at him, not expecting this turn of events. 

 

“I know I told you I’d say it when I was ready.  I was ready a long time ago but I was a coward.  I was a coward that couldn’t separate duty from heart; it cost me a wife and a child.  It will not cost me you, too.”  Her mouth worked, words caught by the onslaught of his confession.

 

“You’ve taught me that there is no separation.  My heart belongs to you.  My duty belongs to you.  I love you, Heather Lisinski.  I’ve loved you since the day you went fought for medication for a town a hundred miles away and made me question my superiors for the first time.  I have loved your soft smiles and your quiet support and this strange devotion you have for a man who has nothing to give you for months.”

 

Her body was trembling in his arms when he paused.  “Beck, you- you don’t have to do this now.”

 

He brought his hands up, framing her face.  “I do,” was his emphatic response.  “I do have to do this now.  Because I almost lost you today because of my own stupidity.  And I can’t bear the thought that I could have been responsible for your death because _I love you_.  I love you so much it’s killing me that I messed up so _badly_.”  He’d started to ramble, the true depth of his despair boiling over.  He wouldn’t cry again, but he was going to be shaken for days after this.

 

Heather opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by the sound of someone moving through the brush.  They broke apart, almost jumping away from one another, as Jones rounded the trees.  “The property is secure, sir.  We found some spare engine parts in one of the outbuildings Miss Lisinski should be able to use.”  The soldier’s eyes glanced between the two of them, emotionless.  Either the man didn’t suspect anything or he’d known all along and wasn’t surprised to find them sharing a private moment.

 

Beck nodded his thanks.  “Good work, Jones.  We’ll be right up.  Dismissed.”  Jones gave him a sharp salute and headed back to the vehicle.  Beck watched him go.  Jones was going to tell every one of his men that their commander was screwing the civilian.  His perfect example of a soldier was about to break apart.  He hoped this wouldn’t end badly but he couldn’t-

 

“Beck, look at me.”  Heather drew his mind back to her and grabbed his hand again.  He glanced back, not allowing himself to turn towards her. 

 

“Heather, I-,” they’d already been caught, they needed-

 

He was suddenly surrounded by Heather, her face next to his, as she hugged him tightly.  “I love you too, Beck.”

 

His voice caught, too full of emotion to respond.

 

“Now kiss me, quick.  It’s still a ways to Kansas and I’ve got a truck to fix.”

 

Beck was happy to oblige.


End file.
